Nothing Ever Dies
by Ilandere Okami
Summary: Tell me, what lies beyond death? Mello, answer me this, what will there be once I leave the world we know? - Matt reflects on his life, directing it towards Mello. But Mello never got to answer... - Slight MattxMello, implied character death, one-shot


**Author's Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MATTY!! If you weren't dead, you'd be 20!**

**This fic is written very different from what I'm used to. I almost didn't make the deadline for his birthday, either, yikes! I randomly thought the first sentence, tried to develope it, and it turned into a fic about Matt.**

**_A word to the wise: This fic directly coincides with "Until the End," the Mello-centric fic I wrote for Mello's birthday, but this is from Matt's POV...still Mello-centric. I did make most of this up as I went along, trying to incorperate as much of the other as possible. There will likely be another from Near's POV, for his birthday in August, that will go even farther than this._**

**I would, first of all, like to dedicate this to M. Mailshot, who I used to hold a long convo w/ discussing the psychology and whatnot of Death Note. One of the first characters we discussed was Matt, which I remembered quite clearly. After finding the convo again, I used much of the character traits we - mostly she - came up with, while giving a bit of my own yaoi that I love so much. This remains my favorite DN couple, and perhaps this is the reality of their relationship...who knows?**

**Warnings: Character deaths, slight yaoi ((MattxMello)), angst to the max...and wondering about death...a lot.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. But I hope that, should Ohba or Obata read this, they think that I captured Matt's character as well as I could w/ what we were given! I also don't own "Nothing Ever Dies," by Kamelot, my new fave band. Check them out!**

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Tell me, what lies beyond death?

Mello, answer me this, what will there be once I leave the world we know?

I've lived my whole life watching others go about their own lives. I've observed through my orange-tinted goggles—a way to block out the blinding sun of reality. My life's routine remained unbroken for years, a monotonous living in which I played video games, learned to forget the dangers in smoking, and watched as others lived out their dreams. I, alone in my room, in my head, saw each flaw with their plans, each mistake they made.

This is why, when the time came, I shed not one tear for the ones who brought me into this world when they left. They left me alone, more alone than I thought possible, and yet, I resented them, hated them, wished the death that had already come upon them. They meant nothing to me except a way to depend on others instead of making my own way in the world.

And then I was brought to Wammy's House. And nothing changed. I was still provided for, still cared for, as if I was a son. I was a student with no wish to work on the boring assignments they gave.

But L intrigued me. And so I put forth a slight effort to see if he would even notice a measly being such as me. Without trying, I easily made it to first. That was enough. L, the World's Greatest Detective, noticed me.

I still didn't smile. I became bored once more.

It wasn't worth the effort, wasn't worth the time. I stayed in my room, avoiding human contact. When I left for meals, I watched how the other children acted and reacted, easily finding their personality. It wasn't that hard, believe me. Geniuses or not, they were still human.

After a while, once boredom took its hold on me, I went to classes. Didn't do any work, but watched the others, observed. They were actually pretty entertaining.

That's when you showed up, Mello. A scared little boy who killed his own parents—that's right, I knew from the beginning. The not-so-guilty pain was written all over your face the first time I laid eyes on you. I saw how you strived to be number one, only able to beat me out of my stable first place—not that I cared, really—and still thinking that wasn't good enough, once Near came along.

An inferiority complex took you in its grasp. You were never good enough. You could never make whoever you truly wanted proud of you. You intrigued me to no end.

Somehow, Mello, you deluded yourself into thinking something that I just couldn't figure out. You thought…thought that there was something wrong with doing what you wanted. What you wanted was very easily defined: chocolate, books, black clothes, long hair, and to be number one. If you really tried, I think you would've achieved all of those from the beginning. All you needed was the right help.

But I wasn't that.

You always tried to hide your emotions from the rest of us. But I don't include myself in that "us." I'm not like the others. I saw right through your mask to see how twisted up you were inside, saw the tears' dried tracks on your cheeks every night when I came back from watching the kids in the common room. I left you alone on purpose, did you know that?

The one person who truly interested me…was not going to remain that way for very long. The fear so often in your eyes when you showed emotion, ate your chocolate, read…I know it has to do with your forbidden past, and I know I will never know what that is…

I felt like you were slowly slipping away. I had witnessed it before, in less amusing kids, who eventually killed themselves, thinking whatever lay beyond was better than this. And I didn't want you to end up like them. They were weak, unable to take what life had thrown in their faces. Just live with what you have, I'd want to say to them…Not that I did.

So, one night, I decided to stop your spiraling to your own self-created hell. You needed comfort. And so I gave it to you.

You were crying, curled up in a ball on your bed. I called out your name. You tried to hide the traces of emotion from your face, but the tears wouldn't stop. For the first time in a long time, I lowered my goggles from my face so they hung around my neck. I wanted, yes _wanted_ to see what emotions you were trying to hide, so I brushed away some of the hair falling in your face.

You thought your eyes hid your emotions, ice-cold blue? Wrong, Mello, so very wrong. And to help you, for no reason but I actually _wanted_ to, I reflected that sadness easily seen in those eyes of yours.

I remembered the comfort I had seen from others, remembered the information I had easily hacked earlier that day as well, and sat down on the bed to pull you close. It was quite awkward for me, having never held someone before in my life. From how I watched you, I knew that you thought you were alone in this world, too. And so I said the first thing that came to mind. "You have to know you're not alone here."

You turned away from me in shame, that I had seen right through your carefully played act.

"You have to know that you have to keep trying as hard as you can to get what you want, but don't let others bring you down." This is the comfort that you need, right? "I'll never hurt you." And I somehow knew that that was true.

And you cried. You sobbed, broke down, let your dams break only for me. You weren't alone all night, as long as you needed me. And I wasn't alone either. I wasn't entertained, but I wasn't bored. I was just…caring.

By morning, I realized I cared for the first time in my life. I grinned at you and stated that I hacked into Wammy's database. It wasn't a big deal, child's play really. "Today's your fourteenth birthday," I had said. I had thought the night before would've been the perfect time to try to comfort you, to be able to do this the next morning.

But you were scared. Afraid that I would hurt you now that I knew about you. I already knew more about you than that database did, though. And so I pulled you closer and gave you the same information that you have held so dear all these years. You never used it against me, never once thought you hurt me the way I could've hurt you. "My name is Mail Jeevas; I was born February first, 1990."

Then…tears…your eyes were watering. I couldn't figure this one out. Why would you cry, Mello? Did you need to be comforted more? I pulled you even closer and whispered in your ear, "Happy birthday, Mihael Keehl," and kissed you on the cheek.

Mello, you always thought that that was special. I had seen it done before, copied others' ways of comfort. You weren't special, Mello, just different. A good different. I liked watching you grow older. Cared for you as others I didn't care for had in the past for me.

A friendship between us was inevitable. But it was one-sided, Mello. Please know that now.

And you thought I was happy with myself? I wasn't, Mello. Far from it, in fact. This whole time, my whole life, I've been waiting for death to take me away from this unending boredom. When you left Wammy's, thinking to protect me by leaving me behind, I felt lonely. But I was easily able to get back into my old routine. It wasn't that hard.

Bored, alone, locked away at Wammy's, once again number one once Near left too.

All this meant nothing to me. It wasn't fun, it wasn't interesting. It wasn't you.

When you called me to help you because of my obvious observation and computer skills, I accepted simply because I missed how entertaining you were. If you had asked me years before, before you entered my life so fully, would there really be a reason for me to say yes?

But I did accept. I did what you told me, doing the most boring of things, only to observe the behavior of those outside of the walls of Wammy's, and, of course, you. You had changed so much, Mello. You had become harder, more independent. Then why did you need my help? Why do you care, Mello?

This plan of yours…it's crazy. Your dream is to stop Kira, for L. I have none. And so I have followed you this far, know that we're not going to make it out alive. But you don't care. You want to win the war, not the battle.

Good luck, Mello, and pray to that God of yours. Nothing will help you, you know. I've helped this far, but it's in the hands of everyone around us now. I know what they'll do in this situation.

This is goodbye, Mello.

So, tell me, when we finish this last mission, what will happen to us? Will you go to that heaven you always pray for? Will I cease to exist? Will my boredom end?

-Matt

_Near held up the note between two fingers. It was dirty and bloodstained, crumpled and slightly ripped. It was dated the day before Matt and Mello's deaths, found in Matt's pocket. He never planned on giving it to Mello, did he? No, Matt wanted his "friend" to keep that exact illusion, the one of friendship._

"_Thank you, Matt."_


End file.
